


Simple Pleasures

by LittlebutFiery



Series: Awkward Encounters Challenge [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, This was meant to be awkward and that didn't happen, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya gets sick, so Gaby decides to take care of him - and accidentally learns about one of his guilty pleasures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request for doctorhuhu, who included this as the third part of their four-part Awkward Encounters Challenge: "Your headphones arent plugged in all the way so I know youre listening to educational children’s cartoon theme song and hey youre adorable when you're embarrassed"

When Gaby had vowed she wouldn’t go back behind the Iron Curtain, she had meant ever. UNCLE, however, had different plans, as a year later she was Volgograd with Illya and Napoleon. Someone had stolen a nuclear warhead from a Soviet missile base, and the government had decided it was enough of an emergency that they forewent the KGB entirely and called UNCLE.

Gaby wasn’t too interested in the details of the mission, although she felt like she ought to be – this was her first mission as a trained agent. She was a little nervous, though she’d never admit it, as this mission was just her and Napoleon. Gaby had hoped for the oddly comforting presence of Illya on this mission as well, but he had had a bad bowl of borscht on their first day in Volgograd. Instead of battling the bad guys, he was back in their hotel battling food poisoning.

Though neither Gaby nor Napoleon would admit it, they were both worried about Illya. Gaby could see it in the way Napoleon had to force his dazzling smiles at the party they had infiltrated, and in the uncharacteristic silence he kept falling into; she knew she wasn’t exactly her normal self, either.

Which was why, when she realized Napoleon could handle breaking into their target’s safe house and safe perfectly well on his own, she excused herself to go check on Illya. Finding any kind of food to settle his stomach had been amazingly difficult – between trying to find “chicken noodle soup” in Cyrillic and trying to find _anything_ on the sparsely stocked shelves, Gaby was convinced Illya would die of old age before she came back to the hotel room.

Gaby felt as though she was back on her mission as she tiptoed into the room, hoping not to wake Illya if he was sleeping. As she set the grocery bag on the table, she heard something that wasn’t right.

A male voice, definitely not Illya’s, talking in loud Russian.

Gaby’s heart skipped a beat – had someone broken into their room? Illya was definitely too weak to fight anyone off at the moment, not that that would stop him from trying…

It took all her self-control not to barrel into the suite’s little living room, but somehow she managed. She crept around the corner, the little knife Illya had given her gripped tightly in her hand, and –

She let out a sigh of relief, the switchblade falling from her hand. Illya was asleep on the couch, covered in a heavy blanket, with a blaring radio on the endtable next to him.

Gaby was about to head back into the other room when a low, croaky voice asked, “Do I not even get a hello?”

“Oh, I thought you were asleep,” Gaby said, walking over to the couch. Illya looked terrible, sweaty and pale and a little green around the gills, but he still smiled at her when he saw her.

“How could I sleep when beautiful girl like you is here?” he asked.

“I didn’t realize food poisoning made you delirious,” Gaby raised an eyebrow, trying to disguise the blush spreading up her cheeks.

“It doesn’t,” was Illya’s simple reply.

Gaby, now fully embarrassed, tried to change the subject by asking, “What were you listening to?”

Now it was Illya’s turn to go a little pink. “I don’t know. Radio show. Wasn’t really listening.”

“It’s up awfully loud for you to not want to listen,” Gaby accused. Despite Illya’s pitiful condition, she saw the hard look come back into his eyes, the look he had when he was trying to hide something from her. What was he up to?

“Buried in blanket. Can’t hear anything,” Illya lied, rather unconvincingly.

“Right,” Gaby replied, not believing it. They looked at each other in tense silence, both gearing up for their impending good-natured argument, when suddenly the segment on the radio show changed and the room was filled with cheery, upbeat music and a high-pitched, chipper Russian voice.

“What is _that?_ ” Gaby asked, confused, nodding at the radio.

Illya shrugged noncommittally, not looking at her. Gaby went on, “It sounds like a kid’s show, or something.”

The Soviet said nothing. Gaby listened for a moment more, struggling to pick out Russian phrases she knew, and pressed, “This says it’s been on since noon. It’s…” she stopped to check the watch Napoleon had stolen for her on the last mission. “…Almost five. Don’t tell me you’ve been ‘not listening’ to this show for five hours.”

“I haven’t been listening to this show for five hours,” Illya replied. Gaby scowled at him, but it quickly melted into a smile.

“It’s okay if you listen to kid’s shows,” she beamed, but there was a teasing look in her eye that contradicted her words. “I think it’s cute.”

“I am _not_ listening to children’s radio,” Illya persisted. “I am not child.”

“Napoleon’s not rich and he puts truffles in his risotto,” Gaby countered. “You can be an adult and listen to kid’s shows.”

“I. Am. Not. A. Child,” Illya practically yelled; his hand was shaking. Gaby took a step back, startled by his sudden anger, and protested, “All right, fine. Suit yourself. I’m going to make you some soup.”

She quickly left the room, leaving Illya glowering off into space. He pulled the blankets up over his head and tried to force himself back to sleep.

*

Gaby came back a while later with Illya’s soup. She set it down on the coffee table beside the couch and scowled, “If you’re done being grumpy, I made you lunch. If you’re not, I’ll have this and you can make your own.”

Illya’s sigh was audible through the blanket; he pulled it down and tried to sit up a little bit. Gaby was watching him pointedly, hackles up and ready for a fight. Instead the big Russian spy mumbled, “I’m sorry, Gaby.”

She opened her mouth, ready to spit back a retort, when his words sunk in and she looked confused. “What?”

“I did not mean to yell. I am sorry,” Illya replied, staring at where he had his hands knotted in the blanket.

“I can’t say I expected this – not that I’m complaining,” Gaby said, a corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. She sat down on the edge of the couch, picked the bowl back up, and handed it to him. “Here. This might help.”

Illya obediently took the soup; the two sat in a companionable silence for a long time as he ate. The radio was still jabbering away in the background, although Illya had turned it down at some point.

After a long silence, when Illya was done with his soup, he turned the radio back up and smiled a little. “I love this show.”

“I thought you said you weren’t listening to it?” Gaby asked lightly.

“I was embarrassed,” Illya countered. When Gaby couldn’t come up with a teasing jab fast enough, he admitted quietly, “I used to listen to this with my father every morning when I was small.”

“Oh,” was all Gaby could manage, feeling a little guilty for teasing him about it.

“It reminds me of him,” Illya said. “So I listen to it when I am in Russia. Easier to pretend nothing changed sometimes, than to remember what happened after he…left.”

Gaby smiled at him, resting one of her hands on his. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Would you like to listen with me?” Illya asked, a little timidly. 

Maybe it was because Illya was so sick, or maybe because he was being surprisingly open with her, but Gaby felt an extra surge of affection for the man she was pretty sure she was falling in love with. She sat down next to him, barely fitting on the couch, smiled, and said, “I would love to.”

 

When Napoleon came back to the hotel room, hours later, he found Illya fast asleep on the couch again, Gaby curled up against him with her head on his chest. Even though Illya was still pale and sickly, he looked happier than Napoleon could ever recall seeing him.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to adjust the prompt a little to make it fit the 60's, and it's a little less awkward and little more fluffy than I intended, but enjoy!


End file.
